


Vogelfrei

by Kieron_ODuibhir



Series: Greywing and the Flying Outlaws [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Villains, Bank Robbery, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Earth-3, Fluff, Gen, Starfire is a BAMF, Team Bonding, mirror!Outlaws Team, was a Talon actually, why is that not a tag already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kieron_ODuibhir/pseuds/Kieron_ODuibhir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>('Free as the birds of the air.')</p><p>Roy is very good at being a criminal. Grayson is very good at being on the run. Starfire is practically a force of nature. And at this point, the entire world is basically out to get all of them.</p><p>This team-up is either the best or the worst idea ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vogelfrei

**Author's Note:**

> (Note to warn canon purists that this series is not set in any of the canon Earth-3 timelines. Also, if you like this, check out Skalidra's approach to a related concept; she rocks and is much more spine-tingly. Not to mention Nu52 canon-compatible.)
> 
> Teen rating for Roy's language and I guess the fact that they're bad guys. The banks mentioned are real; don't rob either of them, please.

The rusted fire escape snapped under his foot, and Roy swore, emphatically but under his breath, as he caught himself on frame and railing without putting too much weight on any one part of the totally-not-up-to-code piece of crap, and eased himself onto the roof proper. Tar paper should not be so reassuring under a guy's feet. Rust belt was right. Fuck Detroit.

"Roy Harper," said a cool voice, and Roy pretty much had a fucking heart attack. The speaker, leaning comfortably against a massive air-conditioning unit that probably hadn't worked since the eighties, did not seem impressed by the gun pointed straight at his chest. Powered, or just nervy? "You're Oliver Queen's right-hand man," he added.

Roy lowered the gun but didn't take his finger off the trigger, or put it away. The man didn't seem to be armed, but he could be hiding anything in that big grey coat, and with the hood up, all you could see was his mouth. "I was. Queen's dead." He might even miss the guy slightly, if he ever had time to catch his breath—total bastard, but fun to work with.

"Long live the queen," replied the stranger, lips quirking to the side. Oh, a funny guy, on top of all the mysterious appearing and declaring.

"Was there something you wanted, or are you just here to annoy me?"

"You're planning on cleaning out the bank on Woodward," said the guy. "Don't."

"Oh, so you're one of _those_ types," Roy sneered. The insurgency and their stupid hackers had managed to seize more of his and Queen's emergency assets than he'd ever expected—he wasn't going to be desperate enough to walk into an open bank with a gun and a heist note anytime soon, but a midnight vault raid was sounding good. He'd never done well at keeping his head down.

"They're declaring bankruptcy," said Mystery Guy, without missing a beat. "The building's in foreclosure. It's not worth it. Go for the place up on Woodward and Michigan."

Roy blinked, reassessing. "Who the hell are you?"

Advice Guy finally raised his head and smiled from under the hood. Dark hair, blue eyes; about Roy's age. "Richard Grayson," he said easily. "I used to be Talon."

"You're the guy Wilson's been tearing up the country for for the last ten years." The former President had thrown a giant fit when it had turned out, after the dust of worldwide civil war settled, that none of the defeated black hats had any more idea where the assassin that killed his kid was now than his white hats had ever had. That Talon had been off-grid so long Roy had figured he was dead.

"Owlman's on the loose again," Grayson shrugged, bland. Roy had heard about that. Straight through the wall of the Crucible, damn. "I'm a little fish in comparison."

"Convenient for you."

Grayson pulled a little face, but also pulled back his hood. "I guess."

"So what do you want?" Roy asked. He'd have folded his arms, if it wouldn't have meant taking an extra half-second or so to shoot the man in the head if he tried anything. He was confident in his own abilities, but Talon was a _nightmare_. Famously so. Grayson might have gone to seed in ten years—he'd screwed up bad enough in that last White House job, come to think of it—but he might just have gotten better, and Roy wasn't going to risk letting his guard down around that kind of death machine. Another ex-Talon had handed him his ass once when Roy had taken him lightly, and Red Hood was a _punk_. Grayson he couldn't get a read on, and that was not reassuring.

"I can't just be a good neighbor?"

"Cut the crap."

"We worked together a couple of times when we were kids," Grayson shrugged, pushing away from the bulk of defunct technology at his back like he was finally taking this conversation seriously.

Roy remembered meeting Talon, when he'd been seventeen and Grayson must have been a couple of years younger, a slim little shard of black-and-red death that almost never said a word. He wouldn't have called either of them kids.

"You're a good operative," said used-to-be-Talon casually, "but you're not grasping the fugitive mindset. You're going to get yourself hauled in by the end of next month at this rate."

"Fuck you very much. So what's in it for you?"

"Well, I could use another pair of hands," Grayson began. "Working solo gets old after a while."

"So…you scratch my back, I scratch yours?"

"More or less."

"I see. There's just one problem." (Actually, there were like half a dozen, the most pressing being that he didn't trust Mister Mysterious here half as far as he could throw him.)

Pink light broke over the rooftop then, like dawn come early, and Roy grinned. Perfect timing. "I'm not working alone."

"Arsenal," said a cold female voice.

Roy's shoulders had relaxed. He regretted his choice of team-up sometimes, when she was being high-strung or throwing cars at trucks or demanding he get up and help her with something, but there was no security on Earth like having a flying tank for backup. "Hey partner," he greeted, not quite taking his eyes off the renegade assassin ten feet away.

Who didn't seem all that surprised, to Roy's mild disappointment. Had he been spying on them for a while, or just since they'd hit Detroit? It was probably her he was angling for, anyway; Roy was good, but not exactly a unique resource. "Hey," Grayson threw in.

"You," Kori said flatly. Grayson gave a little wave, and Roy scowled.

"You know each other?"

"She was my first kiss," Grayson twinkled, suddenly all alive with humor.

Kori rolled her eyes, which was a human gesture Roy wished she'd never decided to imitate, because it really didn't work when your eyes were one solid glowing green. "I needed Earth languages besides Greek, and you were presented to provide the English. It was not a gesture of affection. Talon," she greeted him, a little more friendly than the 'you.'

"Richard," he corrected. " _Please._ Are you still going by 'Nuclear Fusion?'"

"Starfire," she corrected in turn. "Koriand'r, to my friends."

"Coriander," Grayson repeated. Okay, that accent was _not_ going to win him points.

" _You_ are not my friend. Yet," she allowed generously, and turned to Roy. "He's helping?"

"He says we're incompetent," Roy replied.

"I did not!" Grayson protested.

Roy shrugged. Assuming it was given in good faith, the information _was_ helpful. "He says we should target a different bank. Apparently the one on Woodrow is empty."

"Annoying. But it makes no difference, does it? You will get inside and disable security, and I will break the vault door and do the heavy lifting."

"Well, I'll have to start my tac survey over," Roy allowed, wishing she had more discretion in front of the outsider. "So we can't hit the place tonight."

"I can help there," Grayson volunteered, and Roy frowned at him.

"Why help us?" Kori asked, so Roy didn't have to again.

"Like I told Arsenal," he answered easily. "It's been a while since I've had any kind of backup, and the new government is stirring things up, now that the worst of the war cleanup is over. Same reason you two need to learn how to be invisible."

Roy had been 'invisible' plenty, under Queen, but a lot of the details had been either handled by the judicious application of cash, or by syndicate infrastructure he'd barely noticed himself relying on. Grayson leaned back against his air conditioner, put his head to one side, and asked the still-hovering Kori, "What about you?"

"Me?" she asked, puzzled.

He shrugged. "I know why I'm on the run, and it isn't likely to change, and Harper makes sense too, but what about you?"

"'Nuclear Fusion' was associated with atrocities in the war and the years before it," she shrugged. "I am wanted. And recognizable," she added pointedly. She didn't stick out as much as some aliens, but between orange skin and glowing green eyes she needed a burqa to pass for human. Which was a dodge they had used a couple of times, actually. She'd stolen Farsi off a startled newspaper vendor to help make it plausible.

"You were under coercion with the Society, though," Grayson pointed out, proving that once again he knew _way too much_ about shit. "They'd probably acquit you if you came to trial. Especially if you agreed to join one of the new enforcement teams as part of your plea bargain."

Kori snorted. "Or they might not, and I do not _wish_ to serve any new Earth government as a weapon. I was brought to this world a slave. I feel no allegiance to its petty, inconstant laws, and no debt to its selfish little people." Grayson nodded, a look of deep understanding on his face. It was actually starting to creep Roy out, how he kept going from total blankness to exactly, precisely the right expression for the moment. It was like the guy had to intentionally turn his face on to make it work.

He thought about the dozen or so times he'd met Owlman's Talons over the years. Huh. Maybe he did.

"I remain here only until I find a way to return to my own world, and my rightful place as ruler."

Roy had heard it all before, but Grayson seemed honestly interested. "You never mentioned you were royalty."

"What did it matter? Superwoman, may she rot in chains forever, only saw it as another reason to gloat over my bondage." Kori shook her head. "For now, we are on Earth, and you will teach Arsenal and I how to live the lives of outlaws on this world. I will _not_ be captured again."

And that, Roy knew, was that. "Welcome to the team, I guess," he shrugged, without even a warning frown. Grayson had stayed free through over ten years on the Most Wanted list, without even surfacing on the underworld radar. Roy could deal with his personality to get those skills, and it wasn't like Kori was going to give him a choice.

For the first time, Grayson seemed a little surprised, and blinked once before smiling for real. "Team, huh? I guess we need a troupe name," he said. "Flying...no, 'Grayson and the Flying Outlaws,' maybe?"

"I can't fly," Roy deadpanned.

"Are we a troop?" asked Kori. "On Tamaran, a troop must be at least five."

"And who said you were lead singer here, anyway?" Roy threw in.

Their new collaborator let out a cracked little laugh, and they spent the next few minutes bickering over the name of something that Roy would never have thought of naming. Grayson let himself get peeled off the front without much fuss, but he hung fast to the flying part even though it was completely stupid, and both guys appealed to Kori to take their side, which she declined to do, which probably meant she liked it but didn't want to side with the new guy against Roy. In the end they dropped the issue for the moment, and got down to the nitty-gritty of robbing Charter One bank.

Grayson really did know his stuff.


End file.
